So cold. The wind blew through cracks in the walls, skittered across the frigid floor. Jason's body burned and throbbed against the unforgiving cold. He tried to push himself to his feet, get rid of the weight pressing against his back.
The Joker's deadly, jolly voice, confidential in his ear: "What hurts more? This?"
Teeth at his shoulder blade, sharp nip. Dragging across skin to the meat of Jason's shoulder, digging in. It barely registered through the pain over the rest of his body until the teeth began to grind, working sideways, back and forth. The Joker rocked in time against his back.
The mouth lifted from Jason's shoulder. "Or this?" the Joker asked, low and intimate, lover to lover amidst a crowd. His hips drove against Jason's ass, a savage thrust.
Jason's back bowed in agony. It only made the pain flame deeper inside.
"Well, which is it? A, or...B?" the Joker asked, deep voice exultant. He laughed and laughed.
Push and pull, the Joker's rhythm, merciless intent, Jason's bared cock and balls gone numb against cold concrete. Jason closed his eyes, clawed the unyielding floor and thought about Dick and how Dick had kissed him once. Afterward Dick looked horrified. When he apologized Jason tried to kiss him again. Maybe it was one of those extravagant, testosterone-driven crushes in the beginning, but even as young as he was then, Jason had wanted the first-loved--best loved--favorite son. He had ever since they met. That never changed, a coal burning deep inside him, banked only because there was no hope.
Jason always wanted more than he deserved and rarely got it. But there was one thing he knew how to get. Vengeance. Retribution. Eye for an eye. For himself and for others.
But now there was more. There was Dick. Richard Grayson, who flew with the clouds.
"...wake up, Jase. It's a dream, wake up," a disembodied voice said.
Jason struck out without opening his eyes. The weight on the bed beside him shifted.
"Cut it out, will you? It's me. You're having a bad dream." Dick's voice.
Jason opened his eyes, Dick's face hung over him, sleepy eyes blinking, hair sticking up in wild black spikes.
Sleepy, hurt, dirty, whatever--Jason had seen Dick in all his permutations, and the guy never looked bad.
Perfect. Bruce's perfect son. First, best son.
Jason reached up, fingers sliding through the dark hair. Gripped hard and yanked, Dick's body falling onto the mattress beside him. Jason rolled on top.
Dick's body was warm, his breathing calm. Jason tightened his grip deliberately, watching him. Dick winced but his eyes stayed open, clouded blue in the dusky, pre-dawn light.
Clouded because of the drugs. Jason told Bruce he'd taken Dick off them, but he'd lied. Though he'd brought the dose down quickly enough when Dick showed no aversion to Jason in his bed.
Jason spoke in his ear. "Where were you when I died, Dick? Hmm?"
Dick shook his head. He didn't know.
Jason kissed his cheek. His hands slid to Dick's throat. Long, elegant, strong throat.
He slipped his hands around Dick's throat and began to squeeze.
What hurts more?
Dick's mouth opened, trying to take in air. His hands rose, covered Jason's, pulling. Not very hard.
Jason smiled. With even a little of the drug in his system, Dick was like a child: trusting, curious, generous, unmindful of danger to himself. Which actually was little different than Dick off the drugs.
Dick's face turned red, veins standing out in his forehead, and Jason let go. Dick coughed, gasping, and Jason dropped his mouth to Dick's throat. Skimmed his lips back over his teeth and bit hard.
What hurts more?
He closed his eyes and bit deeper, began sawing his teeth back and forth, working the tender skin.
Dick yelped but stayed still. His body had gone rigid. Good. Though rigid made it hurt more.
Rape is it? Is that what you're going to do to him?
No! I would never--
Ah, sanity. It seemed he still had some of it left, tucked away in his head. Leftovers from before the pit.
Jason let go with a wet suck, but he didn't move away. He kissed Dick's throat, mouthed over the injured flesh. "What hurts more, what hurts more?" Jason whisper-sing-songed. He didn't mean to say it out loud and couldn't stop once he'd started. He sounded crazy. He knew that much. He panted it again against the ugly purple bruise he'd bitten into Dick's skin and brushed his lips over it, in apology or maybe readying himself to do it again.
Dick ducked and turned his head. Jason's teeth closed against Dick's mouth, biting lip instead of throat. Dick groaned, opened his mouth to him, lifted his head off the bed to push closer. He thrust his tongue into Jason's mouth.
Jason grunted, gathered himself over Dick, let all his weight sink into him. He kissed him roughly, rubbed his stiffening cock against Dick's.
Dick was hard. He humped into the contact, legs sprawled open beneath Jason's.
Jason grabbed Dick's wrists and pinned them to the mattress, and Dick let him. Dick didn't try to escape, though he'd gone through two nights with the Joker riding Jason's dreams and ass.
But tonight Jason was in control. He was. He was with Dick. In Bludhaven in Dick's apartment, and Dick was warm beneath him. The Joker wasn't pining him on the cold warehouse floor.
He looked into Dick's eyes. There was pain there, and softness. Not violence.
Jason rubbed his face against the bruise he'd made, croaked, "What hurts?" before he could stop himself. He was immediately ashamed, and after that enraged because of the shame.
"You do," Dick said. "I'm sorry." His hand rubbed over Jason's bicep, soothing.
Jason raised his head, mashed their mouths brutally together. There were other ways to shut up, after all.